


Tales of a Midwife

by hypothetical_chainsaw, timelady_queenofhell



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Birth, Canon Compliant, Church of Night, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heartbreak, Inspired by Call the Midwife, Magical Pregnancy, Midwife Zelda Spellman, Pre-Canon, The Spellman Sisters are midwives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26046553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelady_queenofhell/pseuds/timelady_queenofhell
Summary: A collection of oneshots that tell stories of the Spellman sisters as midwives, as told by timelady_queenofhell & hypothetical_chainsaw.Inspired by Call The Midwife but set in the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina universe. Each chapter will be like an episode, a standalone, but all set in the same world. Be prepared for drama, emotions, heartache and fluff.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman & Original Female Character(s), Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Zelda Spellman & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 27





	1. Sometimes Love is not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Written by timelady_queenofhell.  
> I have no medical knowledge, apologies, I am using Call the Midwife as inspiration and a creative license given the magical world this is set in. This is a pre-canon story. 
> 
> **_"Zelda and Hilda have a tough decision to make when a young witch turns up in the middle of the night needing their help."_**

###  **Sometimes Love is not Enough**

The moon was high in the sky that night, the silver beams shone through the kitchen window and illuminated the cigarette smoke that hung in the air. Zelda tapped the ash into the metal tray and took a small sip of whiskey from the cool tumbler. The house was quiet and Zelda enjoyed these moments, late at night in the darkness, when the house was still and its occupants asleep. 

Although she knew that only Sabrina would be asleep. The tiny 5-year-old was tucked away peacefully in her bed having exhausted herself with a tantrum earlier, refusing to go to bed and insisting Hilda read her numerous bedtime stories. Ambrose was a night owl like Zelda but spent his evenings locked away in his room, reading or listening to music. Meanwhile Hilda was in their room reading her current favourite book, no doubt scoffing and giggling aloud at whatever sordid mortal novel had gripped her imagination this time. Zelda wasn’t in the mood for her sister’s cheeriness so stayed downstairs in the kitchen with a drink and her cigarettes, waiting for Hilda to go to sleep and avoiding the mundane night-time discussions. 

The clock ticked rhythmically on the wall; it was 12:25am. She should go to bed. Sabrina would be up early, the first to rise of a morning along with Hilda. They were receiving new bodies tomorrow from the Greendale police following an unfortunate car accident and the death of a mortal couple. The mortuary had a steady flow of business these days, of which they were grateful given the lack of new babies and midwifery duties the Church of Night currently required. 

Stubbing out her cigarette, Zelda decided to retire for the night, when a quiet but rapid knock came from their front door. Who in Satan’s name would be calling at this hour? Zelda sharply downed the remainder of her whiskey as she stood before heading to their front door. 

She wrapped her robe around her tightly, bracing for the cold night air to whip into the house, before opening the large wooden door. A young girl stood on their front porch, with wide eyes and tear stained cheeks, she was trembling. 

“Sister Zelda. I need your help...” the girl sounded pained and scared. 

Zelda recognised her as a member of the Church of Night, a daughter of one of the teachers at the Academy. She couldn’t have been more than 17 years old, vaguely recollecting the girl’s Dark Baptism the previous winter. 

“Whatever’s the matter? Are you hurt?” Zelda beckoned the girl into the house, all thoughts of retiring to bed quickly vanished. 

“I’m in trouble. I’ve done something terrible and now, oh Satan help me!” The girls long dark hair fell over her face as she dipped her head and curled her arms around herself. Her breath was heavy and shaken. 

“It’s Rhiannon isn’t it? Come now. Tell me what’s wrong?” 

“No one can find out. I thought I could do this on my own. I thought I could handle it but...” the girl started to whimper and bite her lip. “I’m sorry.” She said through tears. 

“If you want me to help you, you need to tell me what’s happened.” Zelda placed both hands on the young girl’s arms, worried she might collapse. Rhiannon was obviously very upset and clearly in a lot of pain, but Zelda wondered why she would come to her for help - their families barely knew each other. 

Rhiannon couldn’t speak, her rapid breaths so fast she was almost panting. Zelda held her tightly. Suddenly the girl stopped, stunned into silence as they both noticed the puddle of liquid that now soaked their feet. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Zelda now understood why the girl had sought assistance with the Spellmans. 

Rhiannon nodded and flicked her arm in the air to remove the glamour that had been hiding her secret. She held her newly appeared enlarged stomach and slowly looked up at the older witch, tears spilling past her lashes. “I’m having a baby, please help me.” 

To say Zelda was shocked would be an understatement. Her mind raced as she quickly tried to understand what was happening. This poor young girl was not only pregnant but very much in labour, and obviously terrified. Zelda tried to recall the last black mass, Rhiannon and her parents were there - the perfect picture of a happy family. How had she managed to hide this for so long? 

The girl started to whimper and moan. “It hurts so much.” Rhiannon’s knees buckled and she pulled down against older witch’s supporting arms. 

Zelda snapped her brain into gear, suddenly alert and focussed on the job at hand. “Shhhhh. It’s ok. You’re going to be alright.” Zelda held the girl upright under her arms as she rode out the wave of pain that was consuming her. “Just breath through it. That’s it.” 

Rhiannon grabbed onto Zelda for dear life, groaning and transferring her weight side to side. Zelda hoped that her younger sister was still awake, it was going to be an eventful night and she had a feeling they were going to need the assistance. 

“How far apart are the contractions?” Zelda asked when Rhiannon’s grip on her arms released and the pain had faded enough for the girl to speak. 

“I’m not sure...” she breathed. “Every 10 minutes maybe. I’m sorry Sister Zelda. For turning up like this. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh Rhiannon, you don’t have to apologise. You did the right thing coming here. Now let’s go through to the other room, I’ll need to examine you and we can see what we’re dealing with.” Zelda caught the fear in the girl’s eyes. “Don’t fret, it’ll all be alright.” She added. 

Zelda took the frightened girl to the room at the side of the house just past the office. It was usually just used for midwife appointments, the Spellman sisters were normally called to the witches’ own homes to deliver their babes, however it was well suited for their needs tonight. Rather than the examination table, she guided Rhiannon to the sofa to rest before the next contraction. Easing herself heavily onto the seat the young girl fell back against the cushions rubbing the side of her curved stomach. 

“I’m going to wake Hilda, see if she can come and give us a hand. I’ll be back in just a moment.” 

Her kimono swirled behind her as Zelda practically ran up the stairs to get her younger sister. She hoped Hilda was still awake reading her Satan forsaken book, if not, she wouldn’t hesitate to wake her. Thousands of questions ricocheted in her mind. How had Rhiannon managed to hide a pregnancy from the rest of the coven? Had she received _any_ antenatal care? Was the babe healthy? How far into her gestation was she? What was her medical history? And why did she feel she had to hide it?

Zelda threw open the door to their shared bedroom in her hurry. 

“Hilda! Thank Beelzebub you’re still awake.” 

The blonde jumped at the sudden interruption “Zelds? What is it?” 

“We’ve got a young girl downstairs, about to give birth.” 

“I’m sorry what?” Hilda’s eyes widened and she dropped the book on the bedside table. 

“She just turned up on our doorstep, desperate and terrified, and from the sounds of things definitely in active labour. I need your assistance.” 

“But... who is she?” Hilda threw off the covers and began slowly getting out of the tall bed. 

“It’s Rhiannon. Brother Montgomery’s daughter.” 

“The sacred geometry professor?” 

“The very same. Now we don’t have time for your ridiculous questions! Will you please collect some towels, start boiling the water and join us downstairs?” 

Zelda didn’t wait for an answer. Leaving the bedroom door wide open she disappeared round the corner to the bathroom to wash her hands before running back down the angular staircase. She could hear the girl before she entered the room, the low moans confirming another contraction was already upon her and not as far apart as previously guessed. Now the waters had broken this baby was going to come quickly. Zelda knocked out of courtesy before stepping inside. Rhiannon had moved and was on her knees on the sofa, her head buried in her forearms, facing and resting on the back cushions. A low hum echoed through her pain. 

“ _Every word and every sound, shall now within these walls be bound._ ” Zelda muttered a silencing charm around the room so as not to disturb the rest of the house or wake the sleeping toddler upstairs. 

“Easy now, just breathe deeply, in and out.” Zelda rubbed a strong palm up and down the girls flat back as she tried to comfort her. 

Rhiannon followed Zelda’s instructions, whimpering on her exhales. 

“It seems they are pretty close together. When this one passes Rhiannon, I’m going to need you up on the table so I can examine you. Is that ok?” 

“Yes.” The girl managed to reply between breaths before emitting a low hum. 

What were they going to do? Teenage pregnancies were not uncommon in the witch world. When young witches and warlocks signed their names in the Book of the Beast, with all the wickedly delicious antics of the Academy and the likes of Lupercalia, it was not surprising. However, it was still severely frowned upon, especially for the daughter of a high-ranking professor. This young girl had hidden this pregnancy not only from the coven but presumably her parents. Zelda wondered how Brother Montgomery would react to this news. He was a stern man, but he was fair. A lot more agreeable than some of the archaic warlocks in the Church of Night. Zelda was sure both parents would understand, eventually. All children of night should be celebrated. So why would Rhiannon have gone to such extreme lengths? And how were they going to inform the soon-to-be Grandparents?

Rhiannon’s breathing slowed and the humming had stopped. She lifted her head and pushed herself onto her elbows.

“It’s passed.” She exhaled and turned to the red headed witch.

“Right. Let’s get you up on the table and I’ll see how your progressing.”

Zelda helped Rhiannon shift off her knees onto shaky legs and over to the examination bed at the side of the room. She had no idea how a babe would fair without the close monitoring of a midwife which greatly worried Zelda. Once on the bed she was able to see and fully examine Rhiannon’s bump. It was on the small side, but everything seemed to be as it should. The baby was head down and engaged in the right position, and after listening to its heartbeat confirmed everything was fine.

“I’m sorry Rhiannon, the next bit isn’t very dignified I’m afraid. We need to check how dilated you are. Can you put your feet flat on the bed, knees up? That’s great.” Zelda kept her tone as calm and reassuring as possible despite her own flustered emotions at the surprising turn of events for the evening. “You’re doing great Rhiannon; I know it’s uncomfortable.” Zelda said after a pause “Ok. You’re at 8cm.”

“What does that mean?” Rhiannon’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“It means baby is nearly here. It won’t be long now. Your waters breaking must have sped things along.” Zelda placed a comforting hand on the top of Rhiannon’s leg, tapping softly, signalling they could be lowered again.

“Knock knock.” Hilda both spoke and knocked on the door as she entered. “I’ve brought some towels and got the water on a rolling boil in the kitchen.” The younger Spellman placed the towels on the table next to the medical equipment and approach their visitor. “Oh, you poor dear, keeping this all to yourself. You must be so exhausted.”

“I’m sorry.” Rhiannon looked up at the kind eyes of the blonde Spellman.

“Don’t you worry my love. You’re not the first and you definitely won’t be the last. But it’s ok, we’re here to help you now.”

“Sister, she’s at 8cm already.” Zelda whispered with a cautious tone.

“Oh wow, almost there then.” Hilda’s lighthearted response an attempt to keep the girl positive and calm.

“We need to ask you some questions Rhiannon, so we can best help you and the baby.” Zelda presumed there had been no antenatal care before now and they needed to know as much as they could. “How far into your gestation are you, do you know? 13 months?”

The young girl shook her head. “No… I’m only in my tenth month, half way through it I think.”

The sisters exchanged concerned looks. The child was anywhere from 10 to 12 weeks early. This was not good; it was much too soon for a child of Night. They had potions to slow down or stop contractions but Rhiannon’s labour was too far gone and her waters had broken. There was nothing to be done - this babe was coming tonight.

“Have there been any problems? Is there _anything_ we should know?” Zelda asked more sternly than she intended, but it was vital they know if there was a reason why the baby was making an early entrance to the world.

“I… I’m so sorry.” Tears gathered in Rhiannon’s blue eyes over the flicker of fear, threatening to burst from their banks. She averted her gaze from the stares of the Spellman sisters and bit her bottom lip.

“What is it? You need to tell us love, it’s really important.” The softer sister placed a soothing hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“I can’t.” Her breath hitching in panic. “It’s really bad… I’m in so much trouble…”

“You won’t be in any trouble darling, but if it affects you or your baby we do need to know. We just want to help.” Hilda’s soft voice instantly calmed the atmosphere in the room. The girl looked between the sisters and then up at the ceiling, as if waiting for a sign to stop her confession.

“The father.” She muttered after a beat. “He’s not from the Church of Night.”

Hilda’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled at the girl. “That’s alright. From a visiting Coven was it?”

“Taking advantage of our hospitality no doubt.” Zelda rolled her eyes, jumping to conclusions and judging the boy harshly.

“Not quite. He’s...” Rhiannon’s bottom lip quivered, her voice less than a whisper. “He’s mortal.”

“Satan in Hell!”

“Oh Rhiannon…”

“I know. I’m sorry…” The tears now fell freely from her eyes as she cried. “I know it’s against witch law, I know I shouldn’t have… but he was so enticing. Is that why it’s happening now? It’s too early.” Shifting slightly, she groaned and held her stomach. “That’s why I came here, to you. I know about your niece, the half-witch. You know about these things, don’t you? Oh no…” Rhiannon grimaced with another contraction, rocking harshly on the bed trying to escape the pain that swept over her.

“Do you need to move positions?” Zelda had to bite her tongue, glazing over the abhorrent confession this child’s father was mortal.

The girl nodded through her whimpers and the sisters helped ease her off the bed. Turning around she fell forward to lean on the thin mattress; her muscles aggressively tightening, the pressure inside increasing.

“Oh Satan it hurts...” she moaned deeply “They’re going to kill me if they find out! They can’t find out!”

“Hush now. Let’s just focus on one problem at a time and concentrate on bringing this one into the unholy world.” Zelda resumed rubbing a forceful palm up and down Rhiannon’s lower back.

Rhiannon buried her face in her arms and groaned heavily, bouncing her hips softly as the contraction reached its peak. While the girl laboured, the sisters shared a worrisome look.

“A _mortal_ father? Honestly. What are we going to do?” Zelda whispered quietly so only Hilda could hear.

“That must be why she’s gone into labour so early. Diana only got to 10 months of her pregnancy, the poor dear, I don’t think her fragile body could have taken another three more.”

“But Diana was mortal Hildie, and Edward was the father. Rhiannon is a witch; she’s supposed to carry for 13 months.” The worry spilled through Zelda’s hushed tone.

“I know but surely the same principle applies. The child is still half-witch, half-mortal; no matter which parent is the witch…” Hilda smiled at her choice of words “Which is _witch_.” She joked. 

Zelda rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure sister. We’ve no idea what the child will be like. We still don’t know what abilities Sabrina has, if any. And what about the Coven? Laying with a mortal for Satan’s sake! The girl will be excommunicated at best.”

Rhiannon’s laboured sounds had died down as the contraction dissipated. The sister’s whispered conversation cut short.

* * *

_The longest nights are seldom seen approaching. Storms may not be heard until they break. Like life itself, challenges and change are there to be confronted and we must weather them, alone or together._

“I can’t do this!” Rhiannon cried

“You are doing wonderfully my love. You’re nearly there. Just breathe.” Hilda repeated her encouraging words as she did when every contraction took hold.

Time was both frozen and fast moving. Every contraction went on for eternity, every break of pain seemingly disappeared in seconds. Using the wall for support Rhiannon pushed her palms against the solid concrete and leant deep into her hips, her flat back almost horizontal while the low moans of pain echoed inside the enchanted room. Hilda was supportively by her side, rubbing her back or placing a cool damp cloth on her neck and forehead.

They had been round and around this room many times, the soon-to-be mother pacing and taking different spots to ride out each new wave of pain – leaning against the wall, the edge of the bed or the sides of the sofa on a rotational circuit. With each contraction a Spellman was close at hand to monitor and support as she got closer to delivery.

It was nearly time; Zelda had left to prepare and sterilise the equipment that they’d soon be needing leaving Hilda to look after the young girl.

“That’s it. It’s passing.” Hilda encouraged as she felt the girl’s body slightly relax.

Rhiannon pushed herself away from the wall and continued to slowly pace the room, her hands cradling the underside of her swollen abdomen. The sweat gathered on her skin, sticking her dark brown hair to her forehead and neck. Though the contraction had passed the pain did not disappear, it only ebbed away slightly. Grimacing, she lowered herself slowly onto the sofa, keen to rest her tired legs.

“So, what happened with you and the mortal boy?” Hilda asked, passing the girl a cup of water and joining her on the cushioned seat. With Zelda out of ear shot, Hilda was keen to find out about the relationship with the mortal. They had their niece to look after now, a half-mortal, and despite her older sister’s arguments to the contrary, Hilda knew that side of Sabrina could not be ignored and it would be important for her to know and be around the non-magical community as well as the Coven.

Rhiannon took the cup gratefully and spoke slowly through her heavy breaths “It was during the summer solstice. We met in the book shop in town, bonded over our love of paintings and 19th Century French Impressionists. He was fascinating; how he spoke about the daring brush strokes and use of colours, the single moment that was captured on canvas. I didn’t know mortals could be like that – so passionate and full of life. It was intoxicating. We spent all our time together during the holiday.” The smile radiated from her face at the memories.

Hilda tucked a lock of hair behind Rhiannon’s ear as she paused to take a deeper breath. “Sounds wonderful.”

“It was, he was. We met in secret, hiding from the world, hiding from our lives. I knew it was dangerous but that added to the excitement. There was just the two of us, in those moments, and nothing else mattered.” Rhiannon took a small sip of water, wetting her dry lips. “But then summer was over and we went our separate ways. I… I haven’t seen him since.”

“Does he know?”

“No.” She cradled and rubbed the sides of her stomach as she spoke. “He doesn’t know who I am or about the Coven. And he doesn’t need to know about this baby – I can’t keep it. If the Coven finds out about it, what I’ve done, I… I don’t know what will happen to me. No one can know about this.”

Hilda was relieved to know there was no threat of exposure, but her heart broke for Rhiannon. A forbidden love with a mortal, who knew nothing of this child, having gone through this whole pregnancy on her own. The baby, like their relationship, completely hidden from the world.

“Do you want to keep it?” Hilda tentatively asked, not sure what they would do even if she did.

“No… I don’t think so. I can’t.” Her voice trembled. She was already so exhausted; her emotions were unruly and her body was being ripped apart. She had no idea what she wanted, only that she wanted this to be over. The pain was building again, getting faster and stronger. An unsteady hand passed the cup back to Hilda quickly before she could drop it and Rhiannon slipped off the sofa to her knees.

Hilda saw the girl’s body tense with the next contraction. Taking the cup quickly and placing on the floor, she helped the girl move positions.

Rhiannon turned around on her knees and threw her arms and face onto the seat cushions. White hot pain tore through every nerve; her body shifting, muscles contracting, as it forced the babe closer to the world causing low grumbles to rattle in her throat.

Hilda had joined her on the floor and supportively rubbed her back. “You’re doing great my love. Try and take long steady breaths, it will help keep you and the baby calm.”

The cushioned sofa did nothing to muffle the deep sounds that Rhiannon released on her exhales. Her body rocked forward and back, the excruciating pressure was unbearable, and soon an overwhelming urge took over.

“I think… I need… to push…” Rhiannon said with staccato breaths.

“Right. Ok… erm…” Hilda looked around the room, Zelda had taken the equipment to be sterilised. Damn it. Where was her sister? She’d been gone far too long. “Don’t push just yet sweetie. Just pant through this one.” Looking towards the door she hoped Zelda would walk in, but the wood remained firmly closed. What in Satan’s name was Zelda doing? She didn’t want to but Hilda realised she’d have to leave Rhiannon to go get her sister and the instruments.

The young brunette panted heavily, whimpering as she battled against her body’s instincts and followed the instructions she’d been given.

“That’s it. You’re doing brilliantly my love.” Hilda encouraged. “Nearly there. Once this one passes, I’ll go get Zelds and we can get you ready to have this baby.”

Hilda saw the girl nod into the crease of her elbow to confirm she understood. Words had failed Rhiannon as she focused solely on getting through the worst contraction yet and not giving in to the urge to push. Her hands tried to grip the sofa cushion but her nails just scratched the tough fabric and dug themselves deep in her palms with clenched fists.

The second Rhiannon let out a huff of relief signalling the contraction had faded, Hilda was up and out the door. They didn’t have long before the next contraction would hit and Hilda didn’t want the poor girl to be on her own when that happened. Upon entering the kitchen, she had expected to see her older sister busy by the stove with the freshly sterilised equipment; the instruments were ready on a tray placed over an unused hob but Zelda was not there. Instead, the red headed witch was leaning heavily on the counter by the sink, soft exhales of smoke could be seen past the back of her head.

“Zelda?” Hilda approached but didn’t receive any acknowledgement of her arrival in the room or that her sister had even heard her. “Zelds?” She repeated, touching a gentle hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

Zelda jumped at the contact. An echo of surprise and confusion laced her expression. “Hm? What?” She snapped out of habit at the intrusion to her thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” Hilda asked, momentarily forgetting the urgency of the situation in the other room.

Zelda drew a long drag from the cigarette, holding it in her lungs painfully before releasing. “Mortal.” She muttered, her eyes glazing over back into thought. “The father is _mortal…_ ” Her lips curled in disgust, the word leaving a bad taste in her mouth. 

“Yes Zelda, I know. I was there when she told us.”

“It’s witch law, and she’s broken it! Laying with a _mortal_ , and not only that, but having a child… a child! No one in the Coven will understand. They will be out for blood.” Zelda thought aloud, her mind running a million miles an hour and it simply couldn’t process. “If not her blood, then definitely the boy’s, and the child’s… the half-breed...”

“Zelda!” Hilda scorned “How can you even think that? What about our niece?”

“They had special dispensation from the Dark Lord himself! Edward was high priest, the rules could be overlooked, and though I did not agree with his choices - he had _permission_! Who was I to question our Lord’s will? But this is different Hilda. Rhiannon is nothing but a child herself. Yet she has flouted our Coven and disrespected the entire Church of Night.”

“She was in love Zelds, you can’t blame her for that.”

“Love? Don’t be ridiculous.” Zelda scoffed as she exhaled her cigarette smoke. “And now there’s a child. What are we going to do with it? We can’t let the Coven find out - the boy will be killed and Rhiannon will be punished. What happens to the babe? We can’t leave it at the Academy with the other orphans - it’s half-mortal. What if it doesn’t show any powers, people will find out! But we can’t leave it with the mortals either. It could threaten the exposure of our entire Coven!”

Zelda couldn’t stop the avalanche of questions that cascaded from her lips. Every thought, every scenario, filled her with dread. She felt sick to her stomach. Zelda held her palm to her forehead and took a breath. “If the Dark Lord finds out about this, that we _knew_ …” she took a shaky breath and looked to the ceiling, treading water in her rising panic.

“Zelds… listen to me.” Hilda’s tone was soft but firm. “Whether you like it or not, whether the Dark Lord knows or not, there is a child about the come into this world and we need to help. Ok?”

Hilda turned her sister so they were facing each other. “Ok?” She repeated.

Zelda’s green eyes focused and nostrils flared. Her head twitched with an echo of a nod. Hilda’s words had sunk in.

“Now pull yourself together. It’s time, Rhiannon needs us.”

After a silent moment between them Zelda stubbed out her cigarette in the sink haphazardly and Hilda saw the familiar walls go up behind her sister’s eyes.

“Let’s get on with it then shall we?” As if nothing had happened, Zelda stormed past her younger sibling leaving Hilda to pick up the tray of equipment and follow in her wake.

The silencing spell had worked wonders. This was apparent the moment Zelda opened the door and they were greeted with the strained sounds of Rhiannon panting and crying. The elder witch immediately softened and ran over to the girl.

“She said she’s ready to push.” Hilda advised as she closed the door behind her and brought the towels and equipment over.

Rhiannon hadn’t moved from where Hilda had left her. Almost on all fours, her arms and chest were barely on the edge of the sofa with her face buried in the soft cushion, while her hips were high and knees were wide on the harsh carpeted floor. Her whimpers had turned to deep grunting sounds.

“Try not to push Rhiannon, if you can.” Zelda put a hand on Rhiannon’s back as she knelt down on the floor beside the labouring girl. Her midwife instincts firmly took over, brushing aside her personal feelings and burying them.

“I… I can’t...” Rhiannon screamed into the sofa seat, letting out another low grunt which confirmed her body was bearing down.

“We need to get you into a better position to give birth. Hilda, pass me a towel. Quickly.” Zelda snapped at her sister who was on the other side of Rhiannon. Taking the offered towel Zelda placed it on the floor between the young girl’s knees.

“Help me turn her around.”

With a sister on either side they pulled Rhiannon away from the sofa. Her body was a dead weight, unable to support itself through the blinding agony and the girl clung on to Zelda’s shoulders as they shifted her around on the floor. The grip on Zelda released when Rhiannon was in position, now sitting on the floor, and collapsing back against the front edge of the sofa the tears fell from her eyes. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore!” Rhiannon cried.

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice.” Zelda stated as she moved Rhiannon’s bent legs and rearranged the towel between them. “Now on the next contraction I need you to push, as hard as you can.”

“You’re doing wonderfully my love.” Hilda was by the young witch’s side and wiped the sweat from her brow.

Rhiannon’s head lulled back against the seat cushion, eyes closed, as she took deep breaths in the small break between the burning pains. Zelda glanced at her younger sister with an expression Hilda knew only too well; years of midwifery and working together meant they had developed a well-established silent method of communication between them. _It was time._ Hilda double checked the clamps, scissors and the rest of what they needed and brought them within arm’s length of the three women on the floor.

Breathing sharply through her nose Rhiannon lifted her head, another contraction was already upon her. Both sisters noticed the tension in the girl and prepared themselves.

“Are you ready? Ok, now push.” Zelda instructed.

Acting on instinct Rhiannon grabbed her knees bringing them towards her chest and she pushed. Deep guttural sounds came from within her as she worked hard to bring her baby to the world.

“Well done darling, keep going.” Hilda encouraged and rubbed the girl’s shoulder and upper arm.

Bearing down and almost screaming, she held it for as long as she could, doing what she knew her body needed to do. Rhiannon huffed as the contraction released and she stopped pushing. She fell back against the sofa and panted rapidly, unable to speak.

“You’re doing marvellous Rhiannon. Give me another one like that and we’ll have baby’s head.” Zelda couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips, the miracle of new life no matter the situation, never failed to bring her joy and a sense of purpose.

During the next contraction Rhiannon was silent, putting all her energy inwards and she bore down once more. Her jaw clamped shut showing her gritted teeth while her legs trembled underneath the tight grip on her knees.

“Keep going! Keep going Rhiannon!” Zelda repeated, poised ready to guide the child into the world. “You’re almost there. Yes! That’s it, the head is out.”

Rhiannon sobbed and fell back again, gasping for the breath that she’d unconsciously held.

“You are doing brilliantly my love.” Hilda wiped the girl’s forehead with the damp towel again. “Take a breather, try and relax.”

The younger Spellman glanced cautiously at her sister to check everything was in hand. Zelda ensured the baby was ok, supporting the tiny head in her palm, and looked up nodding to confirm to her sister that all was well.

“Rest for a moment. Your body knows what it’s doing.” Zelda kept her focus on the child as it turned slightly, ready to deliver the shoulders. “When the next one comes you need to give us another big push Rhiannon”

“I can’t do this anymore!” The young girl cried, the beads of sweat dripped down the side of her face mixing with the tears that were escaping.

“Yes you can, you brave girl. You can do this.” Hilda took and squeezed her hands gently and smiled with proud eyes.

“Here comes the next contraction. Now push hard again for me.” Zelda instructed but Rhiannon just shook her head and pursed her lips closed. Her reddened face and puffed cheeks showing her breath was held, refusing to push.

“You have to do this Rhiannon!” Zelda shouted.

“I can’t!” Rhiannon cried releasing her held breath.

“Yes you can!”

“I’m not strong enough…” Rhiannon was exhausted, emotional and defeated. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at the red headed woman, pleading to make it stop.

“Listen to me, you are a fierce young witch Rhiannon. You are powerful and strong. You can do anything and _you can do this_. Now push!” Zelda shouted her final words, leaving the girl no more room to argue. They had to deliver this baby now.

Rhiannon gave a blood curdling scream as she pushed, with every ounce of strength that she had left, her body trembling with the force.

“Well done Rhiannon! Keep it going.” Zelda insisted as the shoulders were delivered.

The grip on Hilda’s hands tightened to the point the younger Spellman was sure her fingers would break. Rhiannon’s scream rang loudly in the room deafening their ears.

“That’s it. You’re nearly there. Just one more push.” Zelda briefly looked up at Rhiannon tapping the inside of the girl’s leg in encouragement. 

With a final exasperated cry from the young brunette the tiny babe was born into Zelda’s guiding hands. “And it’s here.”

“You did it!” Hilda exclaimed wrapping an arm around Rhiannon.

Rhiannon slumped back against the sofa and sobbed at the sheer relief from the pain which had instantly disappeared. Zelda quickly half wrapped the tiny wailing infant into a fresh towel and Hilda passed her the clamps and scissors to cut the cord.

“You have a beautiful baby girl Rhiannon.” Zelda said proudly as she cut the cord and tightened the towel around the child to keep it warm.

“You have a daughter my love.” Hilda’s eyes welled and she wiped the tears before they could fall down her cheek; new life always made her cry. Zelda rolled her eyes hearing the emotional choke in her sister’s voice.

“Is she okay?” Rhiannon asked.

“She is strong, just like her mother.” Zelda beamed as she held the baby in her arms.

Being a midwife always reminded her of the strength of women, of witches. To go through 13 months of often difficult pregnancies, growing new life within their bodies and then to deliver them with such stamina and power. It never failed to surprise her and inspire her, time and again, showing what women were truly capable of. Male heirs were always preferred, women deemed lesser in the Church of Night, but Zelda knew better. She’d seen it for herself, and this young woman was no exception.

Zelda shuffled closer on her knees to pass the newborn to Rhiannon.

“No… I can’t see her.” Shaking her head Rhiannon put her hands up in front of her to stop the baby coming any closer.

“Why? She’s your daughter…” Hilda soft voice still crocked with emotions.

“I can’t keep her. I don’t want to see… it’ll be too hard… to give her up.” Rhiannon turned her head away from either Spellman and closed her eyes trying to ignore the sounds of her newborn daughter crying.

“But if you just hold her…” Hilda tried to convince Rhiannon

“Hilda. Why don’t you take the babe into the other room and get her cleaned up?” Seeing the distress in the young witch Zelda tried to pull her sister back from pushing Rhiannon too hard.

“But- “

“Sister.” Zelda insisted and passed the infant into Hilda’s arms. “I’ll stay with Rhiannon.”

“Okay.” Hilda looked down at the innocent eyes of the new half-mortal child in her arms and with a confused look plastered over her face she stood up and left the room.

“Are you sure about this Rhiannon?” Zelda kept her tone soft but emotionless. She’d seen mothers give up their children before, she knew how difficult it was. She had seen their hearts shatter in two as they decided to give up their babies, the reasons varied from woman to woman but love… love was always there. She could see the love in Rhiannon’s eyes for her child, but the guilt and fear were also very present in the tears that fell.

The exhausted young witch sniffed and her bottom lip quivered. “Yes, I’m sure.” She croaked. “I can’t look after a baby. Once the Coven finds out they’ll kick me out of the academy and the church. My father would disown me. I’ll have nowhere to go, I’ve got nothing. I can’t provide for her or keep her safe.”

The sad truth hung in the air around the two witches like smoke. She was right. The coven would have accepted a child of Night, her father would eventually be forgiving, but with a half-mortal child Zelda could see no way that Rhiannon could keep the babe. There would be uproar. Justice for breaking witch law would be demanded, Rhiannon would certainly be excommunicated and Zelda feared for the fate of the child. The coven would hunt it down, try to eradicate the abomination of the half-mortal half-witch offspring. They both knew it just wasn’t possible.

“I understand. If you’re sure that is what you want, but there is no going back from this decision. You won’t ever be able to see her.”

“What will happen to her? Where will you take her?”

“It’s best you don’t know. But we’ll make sure she’s safe.”

Zelda spoke with such surety and confidence the girl could not question. But in truth Zelda did not know what they were going to do with the child. They could not leave it at the academy with the other orphan girls - there were at least three young girls at the academy without parents, an unfortunate reminder of the Church of Night’s preferences to male heirs resulting in far too many abandoned baby girls growing up within the academy walls. That was not an option here, the half-mortal would undoubtedly raise too many questions if the baby grew up without magical abilities.

Rhiannon started to moan and shift in her seated position on the floor. “Sister Zelda… somethings happening…” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and pain.

“Shhh. It’s ok, it’s just the afterbirth.” Zelda grabbed a large kidney shaped dish and calmly explained to Rhiannon what they needed to do next.

* * *

Once they had delivered the afterbirth and Zelda had completed all the usual healing spells and administered potions, the elder witch helped Rhiannon to rest on the sofa.

“I just want to go home.” Rhiannon said as she laid back across the length of the cushioned seats. Her bloodshot eyes could barely stay open, exhaustion was taking hold of the young girl.

“I know you do, but we just need to keep you here a bit longer to make sure the healing potion takes effect.”

“But my father… what time is it? They’ll find out I’m missing.”

“It’s still early hours, no witch would be awake yet. We’ll get you back before they notice.” Zelda placed a blanket over Rhiannon’s exhausted body. “Now just rest here. I need to go check on my sister and the-“ Zelda stopped herself but caught the sadness in the girls face when they both knew how that sentence was going to end.

Not sure how best to console the girl after her faux pas, Zelda simply offered a weak smile and left the room.

She found Hilda in the kitchen singing some nonsense song to the child in her arms, another habit the youngest midwife had a tendency to do when it came to babies. All cleaned up and wrapped in a fresh cloth, the new-born was quiet in her sister’s arms as Hilda hummed a made-up tune, the infant no doubt as tired as her mother.

Zelda stopped just shy of the doorframe and leant heavily against the wall behind her. What were they going to do with this new-born baby girl? A child born from two worlds but not able to grow up in either of them. She raised her palm to her head as it swam with worries and released a dramatic sigh, letting her head tilt back against the cold wall.

“How is Rhiannon?” Hilda asked

“She’s resting. I’ve given her a healing draught, hopefully that will speed up the spell’s magic and we can get her back home before the family notices she’s gone.”

“She’s really not keeping the baby?”

“No, she can’t. She’s still a child herself, but also the coven would never allow it – a half-mortal in the Church of Night.”

“They accepted Sabrina though, why not this little one?” Hilda bounced the babe in her arms softly, her positivity and hopefulness astounded the older sister.

“That was different Hilda. Sabrina is a child of the High Priest, her existence a result of the gracious allowances from our Dark Lord. Even with Edward gone, no one would risk hurting her. But Rhiannon, she broke witch law and the coven will not be as accepting of a half-mortal child born out of wedlock. This is her only option.”

“But if she loves the child?”

“That’s not enough Hildie!” Zelda snapped with an air of desperation in her voice. “If it was, there wouldn’t be any orphans in the Academy. There wouldn’t be women secretly crying into their pillows at night over the children they weren’t able to raise. Life is not as simple as that. Sometimes love is not enough.”

Zelda stormed further into the kitchen and around the island in the centre of the room, feigning looking for her cigarettes while trying to hide the tears that were forming above her bottom lashes. She was just tired; this long night was making her emotional. She couldn’t afford to be emotional, that was always Hilda’s job. She found her cigarette holder on the kitchen table but could not find the tin where she kept the slim sticks of nicotine that her body now desperately craved.

“For Satan’s sake! Where are my cigarettes?!” Her anger was the easiest thing to cover unruly emotions.

Hilda found the tin instantly on the kitchen island in front of her and picking it up she offered it to her older sister.

“Do you have to Zelds?” Hilda disapprovingly asked as Zelda took the silver tin from her hand. “This babe is half-mortal; you shouldn’t smoke around her.”

“I don’t need reminding of her parentage thank you sister.” Zelda said through the side of her mouth as she placed the filtered tip of a cigarette between her lips.

Hilda didn’t respond and merely raised an eyebrow and bounced the child in her arms tauntingly.

“Fine.” Zelda snapped shoving the cigarette back into the case nearly breaking the fragile paper.

The baby stirred quietly in Hilda’s arms. “What are we going to do with her then?” She asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know sister.” Zelda’s uncertainly was uncomfortable; her fingers flipped the cigarette tin over and over in her hands needing something to do without the desired nicotine in her bloodstream. “We can’t leave her at the Academy, there will be too many questions. We can’t leave her with the mortals either for risk of exposure. I just don’t know what to do…”

“If only we could keep her. We could guide her, teach her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Hilda. We’ve got enough on our plate with Sabrina.” Zelda rolled her eyes and began pacing the kitchen. “We need to find somewhere where she can grow up free to show her magical abilities but without fear of being punished should she have none. Somewhere away from the Church of Night.”

“What about Desmelda?”

“Who?”

“You know, the runaway witch who lives in the Greendale woods. The one who fled the Feast of Feasts all those years ago, when she was supposed to be the Queen of the Feast. She lives in hiding I believe, in Moon Valley.”

“What about her?” Zelda didn’t understand what this story had to do with the new-born in Hilda’s arms.

“Couldn’t we give the child to Desmelda to raise? She’s a witch so understands our ways and could teach the baby, guide her. Desmelda fled her Church, breaking tradition, I’m sure she wouldn’t judge Rhiannon or this baby.” 

“You’re suggesting we leave her with an old hag in the woods?” Zelda’s scoffed.

“Do you have a better idea? At least this way she would be free to grow up without fear, no hiding. Yes, it would be in seclusion but she would grow up without suppressing any part of who she is, free to be whoever she is destined to be.” Hilda looked down at the innocent bundle in her arms and gently stroked the top of her soft head.

“That’s a nice sentiment Hilda,” Zelda couldn’t help the sarcasm that laced her words “but that’s assuming Desmelda would even want to take in a new-born baby.”

“You leave that to me sister.” Hilda smiled, an abundance of hope and determination radiated off her, which Zelda found equally annoying and fascinating. She didn’t understand how her sibling could be so resiliently hopeful and full of faith.

“Oh no you don’t. I’m not letting you go off into the woods to find a runaway excommunicated witch you’ve never met and give her this new-born child. We’ll go together. After we get Rhiannon home.” Zelda decided firmly, leaving no room for her sister to argue. Zelda had to admit, if Desmelda was agreeable, this wasn’t a bad idea.

With their plan for the child decided, Zelda immediately felt more relaxed about the whole situation, although that didn’t stop her from disappearing out the back door to finally have that cigarette she had been craving. The faint orange hues tinged the bottom of the skyline, signally the impending rising of the sun. They would need to get Rhiannon home soon, before the rest of the witching world awoke. Zelda couldn’t remember the last time she had been up all night and was dreading having to go through a new day without having had any sleep. There was already a long day ahead of them balancing the mortuary business and an excitable 5-year-old, without the added tasks of getting Rhiannon back to the Montgomery house and finding a safe home for the new baby. Sleep would have to wait; coffee would have to do.

Before the sun could rise on the horizon, they successfully checked on Rhiannon who, apart from extreme exhaustion, had recovered and healed well. The young witch was distant and silent now. There were no more tears, but despite the brave face she tried to put on there was a familiar emptiness in her eyes that Zelda had unfortunately seen before. Hilda had stayed with the baby at the mortuary while Zelda accompanied Rhiannon home, teleporting them just outside the house and making sure the young girl got in safely. She had a difficult time ahead of her, Rhiannon would never be the same girl she once was, but she would heal. Eventually.

Hilda had managed to locate Desmelda with relative ease, surprising for a witch who had fled her coven and run from the Dark Lord. The greying woman was tentative with new visitors, a lifetime of solitude hadn’t made her the most sociable witch. However, once they explained their delicate situation and she saw the fresh face of the new-born baby, Desmelda was glad for the company and to provide a safe haven for another young girl.

Desmelda’s set up in the woods left a lot to be desired. There was no house, no water, no facilities. Zelda knew there were many different ways to being a witch and she shouldn’t judge, but it was difficult to imagine this young baby girl growing up and having to call this place _home_. It wasn’t fair. But they had no other options. This was her best chance at survival; away from the Coven and hidden from the Dark Lord. A shiver ran down Zelda’s spine whenever she thought of the treachery of their actions. Hiding anything from the Dark Lord was almost reckless, for their Satanic master knew all and would undoubtedly find out. If somehow he didn’t, Zelda knew she would have to live with the guilt, that she, a _Spellman,_ defied Him, betrayed Him. She would find other ways to show her devotion, to make up for her actions tonight, but knowing this babe was safe was enough to ease the monster of guilt that now lived inside her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"The longest nights are seldom seen approaching. Storms may not be heard until they break. Like life itself, challenges and change are there to be confronted and we must weather them, alone or together."_ Call the Midwife S4 E4
> 
> Thanks to ZeldaByrdeBishop for inspiring this! And thanks to Singofsolace for the headcanon re Diana's pregnancy :) 
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this. Please let us know what you think, if you would like to see more stories from the Spellman Sisters as midwives. Comments & Kudos very much appreciated.


	2. Manzanilla De La Muerte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face arrives at the mortuary, a face Zelda's none too pleased to see. But worse than that; it appears Hilda's in on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by hypothetical_chainsaw  
> A familiar face arrives at the mortuary, a face Zelda's none too pleased to see. But worse than that; it appears Hilda's in on it.

###  **Manzanilla De La Muerte**

Through their youth Hilda Spellman had never been mistaken for the adventurous sibling. She obeyed most every school rule, adhered to strict bedtimes, and dared not put a toe out of line if it would mean facing their parents’ disappointment. And yet it wasn’t at all surprising to her sister to hear the front door creak closed at 4am that Wednesday morning. On the contrary, Hilda sneaking back into the mortuary had been a regular occurrence every third Wednesday since she had returned from her travels with Ambrose in tow.

While the time apart had done them good, the pair hadn’t quite reconciled after the row that had prompted Hilda’s departure and so Zelda did not ask who Hilda had been meeting in the dead of night. Any warlock would be a good warlock after 170 years of self-imposed celibacy. As long as she stayed far away from Zelda’s own lovers, Hilda was welcome to the rest of the congregation.

No, it wasn’t the illicit nature of the activities that vexed Zelda; it was the awful job she did of discrete return journeys back to her bedroom. Her footsteps overhead broke the trance Zelda had lulled the infant into and it’s cries echoed painfully loud around the embalming chamber.

“For the love of Satan.” She berated under her breath, setting her cigarette down to nestle the small bundle against her chest. She bounced him softly, “Now, now little one, this is no time for crying.”

His fingers sought purchase in her hair and, once he held a lock within his grasp, his wails became little more than hushed whimpers. He silenced all together when his chubby hand thrust the strands into his mouth, gnawing them between his gum.

“There now,” She soothed, her bouncing becoming a gentle rocking motion as his eyelids drooped once more, “Stress can ruin the whole carcass irrevocably,” Once his protests ceased completely, she lowered him back to the slab, easing her saliva sodden hair from his grip, “And only the most tender longpig will do for the Dark Lord.”

She had been planning the sacrifice for weeks now and was adamant it would succeed where the others had failed. This child was plump, spoilt, and descended from a long line of witch hunters. A feast so delectable was sure to prove her devotion to the Dark Lord.

Zelda held the borrowed kitchen knife aloft, beginning the ritual again.

A thud sounded overhead followed by muffled conversation. For Satan’s sake, Hilda had never brought a warlock home before. No, the second voice was far too high to belong to a warlock. She’d brought home a _witch._ Despite her ire at what would clearly be a much larger distraction than she first thought, Zelda’s lips quirked up in a small smirk. Good for Hilda. Just not tonight.

The baby began to gurgle agitatedly once more as a door above closed all too loudly. The door to Zelda’s study if the footsteps above the sink were anything to go by.

“Over my dead body.” Zelda growled, slamming the knife into the chill metal of the morgue slab.

The impact ricocheted around the small space and was soon joined by the infant’s cries. With a wave of her hand she silenced it, a startled look falling over the baby’s round features as a pacifier appeared in it’s mouth, and tore up the staircase to the ground floor.

She crossed the hall in hurried steps, desire to protect the sanctity of her study coupled with the time sensitivity of the ritual downstairs pushing her into a near jog. It appeared to all be for nought however when a sharp turn of the door handle merely rattled it in the frame. Locked. The audacity.

Hilda’s voice dropped at the attempted intrusion but a guttural moan sounded in its place. The woman sounded in more pain than pleasure and had it not been for the poor timing or the locale Zelda might have found her sister’s blatant lack of sexual prowess amusing. As it was it only served to infuriate her more.

“Hildegard Antoinette Spellman,” Her tone was so reminiscent of her father’s frequent wrath that Zelda herself shivered, “If you make me force open this door, I swear to all that’s unholy-”

The door unbolted and slid open a fraction, her sister’s sheepish smile peering through the crack.

“Zelds..didn’t think you’d be awake for hours.” Hilda mumbled, eyes flitting between Zelda’s and the floor, “Don’t mind me commandeering the study for a bit, do you? I’ve got some particularly pressing research to be getting through.”

“And does your lady friend appreciate being referred to as research?”

“I don’t have a-” The palm of Zelda’s hand slamming against the door jolted Hilda from what was sure to be a specious argument and she gulped heavily, “Zelda, if you respect me at all I need you to trust me on this.”

Less than a second passed before the door was swinging open under the force of Zelda’s shove.

“Crumbs.”

Hilda’s utterance went practically unnoticed as Zelda set eyes on the woman seated behind the desk. A woman she hadn’t seen in years and certainly had no desire to reacquaint herself with.

“Selene Pendergast.” Zelda hissed, years of curses bubbling on her tongue to smite the witch.

But she hadn’t arrived on her own. She’d been _invited._ Zelda’s eyes shot down to the meek expression on her sister’s face. A new set of curses filling her mind.

“Zelds, she’d have been out of here by morning and you’d never have-” Hilda was cut off once more as a pained groan broke free from Selene’s lips.

She clung tight to the edge of the desk with one hand, the other moving to stroke the swell of her stomach. Suddenly it all made sense. And Zelda saw red.

“ _Explodere Centena-”_

“ _O-kay_ ,” A tense smile pulled at Hilda’s lips as she dragged Zelda’s arm back down to her side, halting the hex in its tracks, and she directed her hushed tone up at her sister “Let’s not explode our guest, hm?” She cast her head back towards the woman panting her way through her contraction, “You’re doing brilliantly, sweetheart. I’m going to step out for a minute, make a spot of tea. You keep..doing what you’re doing, and I’ll be right back in a tick.”

Hilda stepped forward, forcing Zelda to take a step back from the door, and pulled it closed softly behind her.

Unbridled rage flared behind Zelda’s eyes and it was all Hilda could do to stifle her nervous laughter after a single peal, “So I suppose you’re wondering why-”

“Why my idiotic sister is brazen enough to have invited a cantankerous defector to labour in my study?” Her arms locked across her chest in an attempt at self restraint, as her sister blocked her path back into the room.

“She’s not cantan-”

“My arch nemesis is what? Amiable? Devout? Suddenly anything other than a heretical croan?”

“Zelda, it’s been over a hundred years. Is the arch nemesis schtick not a little childish?”

The raised eyebrows Zelda offered in response suggested otherwise. Hilda visibly deflated. If she thought Zelda was going to take this intrusion quietly she was in for a rude awakening. Whatever unearned sense of righteousness had been instilled in Hilda during her time away had long outstayed its welcome. Yet, to Zelda’s chagrin, she continued.

“Magda’s here-”

“Magda?” Zelda balked. She’d known Selene had developed certain extreme views in her time away from the church, but to mock them so blatantly in her display of recreance?

As Zelda’s ire increased, so too did Hilda’s nervous energy. It pulsed out of her in waves as Zelda waited out an explanation.

“Magdalena.” Hilda signed eventually, “She went for something a little more-”

_“Blasphemous._ ”

“Traditional.”

It was all Zelda could do to blink back her incomprehension. Her sister had always been ingenuous to a fault, but the depths to which she had sunk into her naivety was impressive even for her.

“Hildegarde have you lost control of your senses?” She flung her hand towards the closed door, at a loss as to how she could express the severity of this situation in a way so simple even someone so taken in by their own misguided ‘kindly dark neighbour’ act might understand, “That woman is-”

Hilda shook her head, disrupting Zelda’s tirade for the first time and causing her to falter for long enough for Hilda to speak plainly without rebuttal, “In desperate need of a midwife.” her voice lowered, the calmest she’d been since Zelda had made her discovery, “She had an unusual amount of salt hidden away for someone not using magic.” The redhead rolled her eyes, turning to return down the corridor while there was still a chance of completing her ritual successfully, “And enough brugmansia in her garden to rid every witch in the coven of their magic if she wanted to.”

Zelda halted instantly, suddenly sobered by the implications. Selene - _Magda_ \- may be irreverent in her distaste for the Church of Night but she didn’t have it in her to do something so drastic. Which could mean only one thing, “How long has she been labouring?”

“Sixteen hours since Victor called to say her waters broke.” Hilda said gravely, "Just point me to the book you and Sister Greta used last time and we'll be out of your hair before sunrise."

Zelda inhaled deeply, hand rising to her forehead as she leant her head back, eyes clamping shut. She could feel the migraine brewing already.

"There is no _book_. There's hardly any written record at all because no witch has been foolish enough to willingly ingest brugmansia since the trials."

"But Daphne..." Hilda's voice was small, the uncertainty creeping past her ill-placed optimism as she trailed off.

Zelda shook her head, "Daphne Night was given a single dose and it was a wonder we were able to save even the child. If she's been _medicating_ with it.." She sighed, all too aware of the horrors they would likely see that night after having seen Daphne agonise through her labour having taken only a fraction of what she could assume Magda had, “I need milk thistle, red clover, red raspberry leaf, and as much mugwort as we have.”

Decision made, Zelda brushed passed her sister, fire in her eyes as she flung the door open with enough force that it was a wonder it stayed on its hinges.

Hands bracing against the edge of the desk, Magda was doing her best to lean into it nonchalantly though her breathing had yet to level following her contraction. Her usually olive skin had adopted a pallor seen more frequently on the corpses that arrived through their door than the living. No doubt she'd be joining the ranks of the deceased soon enough if Zelda's suspicions were correct.

"How long have you been poisoning yourself?" Zelda’s question left no room for argument but she was met only with an infuriating smirk so reminiscent of their academy years.

"Hello to you too Zelda, lovely to see you again." Her words dripped with a hostility rarely seen in someone in such obvious pain and Zelda had to admit she was almost impressed at the woman’s obstinate nature refusing to bend. She hadn’t lost that in her time away from the coven at least.

Zelda rounded the desk, “How long?"

She reached out for Magda’s wrist only for it to be snatched from her grip, "If you think I'm letting you anywhere near me or this baby you have another thing coming."

She took hold of Magda’s wrist again, glare daring her to move it away again as she felt for her pulse. It fluttered beneath Zelda’s fingers erratically. "There won't be a you or this baby if you don't start cooperating."

"Ever the dramatic witch." Magda rolled her eyes but as another contraction took hold she whimpered softly and bolted up from the chair, her stony exterior crumbling against the pain as she made a feeble attempt to sway out the pain.

As though summoned by the sound, Hilda arrived with an armful of plants plucked fresh from the garden. She despostited them on the desk before coming to Magda’s side, rubbing her back comfortingly, ignoring the mess her mud covered hands were making of the pale cotton of her dress.

“And breathe, two, three. Out, two, three.” Hilda soothed, demonstrating the technique herself. As Magda joined her she smiled warmly, “That’s the ticket.”

By the time the contraction ended the woman didn’t have the strength to stand and lowered herself back into the chair, body shaking from the effort.

Resilience gone, she turned back to Zelda, eyes still full of malice despite her weakened state, "We've been cleansing with the Angel’s Trumpet tincture since we freed ourself of that cult."

"Over a century." Zelda exhaled defeatedly before hardening once more, "The babe's as good as dead. Hilda, see to its removal if you like. Neither of them is making it out of this and I'm not wasting my time."

"Scaremonger all you like, I know the dosing, I know the effects, it's a perfectly safe way to rid myself of that satanic mumbo jumbo."

"Make no mistakes, I've imagined your death for years so to know you're your own undoing is more poetic than I could ever have imagined."

“Zelda.” Hilda warned but the witch was far too irate to stop now.

"But that you've condemned this child to death with your own pigheadedness? You truly have hit a new low.” She bit, words filled with vitriol, “There's a special place in heaven for people like you."

"And God will welcome me with open arms." Magda proclaimed, an air of grandeur suddenly surrounding her though she was still so physically drained.

Zelda’s hands were cast skywards in disbelief and she let out an incredulous laugh as she made for the exit.

The last words she heard were Hilda’s strained "Zelds, _please._ ” Before the door ricocheted in its frame.

* * *

It was nearly 5am by the time Zelda had extricated herself from the farcical goings on. The birds had started singing and the sky held the beginnings of the faint pink hue that suggested sunrise was just around the corner. She had missed her chance to commune with the Dark Lord for yet another month. The baby on the mortuary slab wouldn’t keep its youthful tenderness for that long. She sighed heavily at the thought of entering the mortal realm yet again to return the infant. Perhaps she wouldn’t bother; she had earned a feast afterall.

Resignedly, she made her way through to the parlour, slumping heavily into her armchair. If she were being honest she was desperately in need of a few hours shut eye but, even if she hadn’t been too worked up to sleep, there wasn’t a chance in heaven that she’d be closing her eyes for a second with that apostate under her roof.

Instead she fumbled for the cord of the small table lamp beside her. It cast the space in a soft light that extended only a few feet before leaving the room in darkness. It was enough, however, to locate her cigarettes and the previous evening’s reading - her dogeared Satanic Bible. By the time her cigarette was securely within its holder and glowing between her lips, she had found the verse recounting the formation of Pandemonium (her favourite,) and sank deep within her cushions. The text was hardly necessary at this point, each word imprinted in her mind with years of study, and yet to have one thing that made sense in the trial that was that morning provided more comfort than she could ever convey.

As verses turned into pages and pages became full chapters of scripture, she sought to clear her mind, but Hilda’s harried steps between the study and stove pulled her from the words with each pass through the room.

She peered over the top of the book as yet another bundle of herbs was carried through, “Really Hilda, is it not enough that she has to die here? Can it not be a quiet affair?”

“Sorry Zelda, births are hardly ever quiet.” Her relentless optimism really was wearing.

“It’s not a birth, Hilda.” She called after her as she disappeared back into the kitchen, “You can’t argue semantics in the hopes of making it anything other than a suicide.”

By the fifth interruption it was all too painfully clear that, not content with ruining her worship, her sister intended to put an end to her Bible study too. Hilda’s time in Europe truly had been a gift that Zelda hadn’t fully appreciated until this moment.

She closed her Bible forcefully, fixing Hilda with her fiercest glare as the sound reverberated around the room, "She's sealed her own fate Hilda, why are you continuing this charade?"

"Because that little witch or warlock in her belly has done nothing wrong. They're likely scared and suffering, and I wouldn't be able to sleep in my bed at night knowing that I didn't do everything within my power to help...and I don't think you would either."

Hilda wasn’t entirely wrong; at the very least she wouldn’t be getting any sleep until the entire ordeal was over. Especially not with Hilda’s carryings on.

She set her Bible aside, snatching the freshly brewed potion from Hilda’s grip. A sniff told her all she needed to know.

“More mugwort.” The vial was unceremoniously thrust back into Hilda’s hand before Zelda returned to the woman in her study.

Magda lay back against the desk, where she had seemingly fallen when the hard back of the chair had proved too much. She looked only worse for the time that had passed.

"Since my sister is incapable of letting you suffer for your atrocities without feeling like she's been damned for all eternity, which would no doubt render her a sniveling mess for me to manage, I will be assisting the babe. Not you. Is that clear?" Zelda asserted.

"Crystal." Sweat pooled at Magda’s brow, belying her blasé tone.

“And you won’t be doing any more of _this,_ ” She gestured in Magda’s general direction before continuing, “In here. Get up.”

Her foot tapped impatiently as Magda made no attempt to move.

“I heard no ‘please.’”

“Satan in Hell.” Zelda exhaled, ignoring Magda’s appalled gasp at the outcry, “ _Please_ will you remove yourself from my antique rug and stop polluting the space with your very presence? There’s an examination room next door, but I’m perfectly happy for you to squat outside if you’d rather.”

There was a brief pause as Magda, seemingly quite genuinely, considered her options before settling on a decision, “Next door sounds lovely.”

Her progress was slow as she attempted to stand, every movement accompanied by a bitten back groan or gasp. Zelda had known witches to break after a fraction of her labour time. Not Magda though; it seemed that cockroach-esque resilience was paying off. Three attempts at pushing herself from the floor was the limit however, and her arms began shaking beneath her. Zelda’s eyes rolled skyward. She tucked her arms under each of Magda’s, earning a cry of protest, and hoisted her to standing.

If anything, her pants of pain only increased once she was somewhat securely on her feet. Nevertheless, Magda forged on with an ardent independence that was far from believable given the grimace that overtook her features upon the first step.

If they waited for her to travel at her own pace Ambrose would be down for breakfast before she made it out of the room. After a handful of defiant, yet minute, steps on Magda’s part, Zelda was back by her side, arm looping supportively around her waist. The fabric there was tacky to the touch, the combination of her sweat and garden soil making for a rather unpleasant mix. Zelda’s expression mirrored Magda’s as the grime muddied her own sleeve.

“I don’t need your help.” Magda growled, but did little to distance herself from Zelda’s grasp.

“Yes, I can see that.”

Together the pair shuffled through to the next room and, despite her adamance that she was entirely self sufficient, Magda wordlessly accepted Zelda’s assistance onto the examination bed.

Once she was situated, it struck Zelda that the woman’s stomach was as large as any she’d seen in recent months. Daphne’s single dose of brugmansia had been enough to cause preterm labour. And yet somehow Magda appeared to have carried to term while continuously drugging herself. If Daphne’s loss had been the Dark Lord’s will as punishment for her transgressions surely Magda would be destined to meet the same fate for her own?

Zelda placed a flat palm against the top of Madga’s stomach, slowly palpating her way down the swell. She frowned.

“What?” Magda questioned, her voice suddenly thick with concern.

Had she been dealing with any other mother Zelda might have schooled her features into something less alarming. As it was, she let the furrows in her brow deepen as the muscles beneath her fingers tensed, signaling another contraction.

Magda’s fists balled at her sides, in the absence of anything to grip. As a string of shallow breaths broke from her lips, it became painfully apparent that she was actively resisting pushing.

“What happens when you push?” It came out with more concern than Zelda had been anticipating as a whimper escaped Magda midway through her question. “I can’t push.” Magda sobbed, before clamping her mouth shut as the full strength of the contraction hit.

Zelda had witnessed powerful contractions Satan knows how many times, heard witches cursing through the pain, the odd one blaspheming or threatening dismemberment of their husband, but rarely had she seen them try to suffer in silence. Especially while rebelling against them.

“Have you tried?” Zelda probed, bluntly.

“Of course I’ve tried.” Magda snapped, teeth gritting as her head was thrust back against the cushion beneath her.

“Show me.”

Magda’s head shook furiously, tears snaking down her cheeks unbidden.

“Magda,”

The name felt odd on her tongue but it seemed to serve its purpose as the woman’s eyes fixed on hers suddenly. It took everything in Zelda not to turn away; she’d never known Magda to be truly afraid. She was no longer looking in the face of the woman who had left the academy decades ago, but the wide eyed girl who’d sat next to her in every class their first year.

Keeping one hand on her stomach, Zelda took hold of Magda’s with her other, “It’s of the utmost importance that I see what happens when you try to push. We can try it on this contraction or on the next if you need a little time. Now I’m going to move down to the other end of the bed and we can find out exactly what we’re dealing with. Okay?”

The moment she made to move Magda’s grip on her hand tightened and there was no question as to whether Zelda was staying put. Zelda squeezed back.

“You can shout if you need to.” Her voice was soft now, just audible above Magda’s stifled whimper, “This is a lot worse than your Harrowing and you and I both know you screamed loud enough to wake the dead then.” She gave a wry smile, “Though perhaps that’s not wise in a mortuary so just a touch quieter would be appreciated.”

“I will not scream in front of you, Zelda Spellman. Not again.” Her words were cutting but a wan smile ghosted across her lips all the same.

Had it not been for the obvious protrusion of Magda’s stomach, the moment might have been oddly reminiscent of their many afternoons crouched under library desks, attempting to last out the harsher effects of improperly performed advanced spells, hands in each other’s grip. Though Victor had been with them on every occasion then, Selene’s - Magda’s - other hand in his, peppering soft kisses along her hairline as she bit back the pain.

No doubt Victor too had changed his name since their betrayal of the coven and the Dark Lord’s offerenings. Perhaps opting for something equally as trite. To picture the warlock she’d once known with anything other than his baptised name seemed almost more heretical to Zelda than the act of absconding. Had he completed his training, Victor would have been a High Priest without equal; more suited to the role than even Edward. And now what was he? If he too had been taking the brugmansia tincture, then likely no better than the husk of a witch before her.

Magda’s fingers slackened as the pain seemingly passed its crest.

Both hands sharply returned to their owners’ sides as Hilda appeared in the doorway, a steaming cup in her hand. Whatever kinship they’d found forgotten, Zelda rounded the bed, plucking the potion from her sister’s hand. She sniffed it, frowning.

“That’s _all_ the mugwort?”

Hilda nodded grimly, “Is it enough?”

Meeting her sister’s eyes, Zelda gave a careful nod, before turning her back on her and murmuring to herself, “Not in the slightest.” as she returned to their patient.

The previous contraction had drained Magda yet further and she put up only the faintest of physical protests as Zelda lifted the draft to her lips.

“I’m not sullying my body with that witchcraft.” Magda spat, all warmth from moments earlier lost, though it lacked the energy to be truly cutting.

Zelda followed suit, face moulding into a well practiced scowl, “What an interesting time to forget the witch-made draft you’ve been adding to your morning coffee.” Zelda snarked, though she lowered the cup a fraction.

“It’s a herbal remedy.” The defence was weak even to Magda’s own ears yet she showed no sign of breaking.

The loopholes in logic she seemed somehow to have found were astounding.

“Well consider this the ultimate in lifesaving tonics then why don’t you?” Zelda offered sardonically.

“I won’t be tricked into-”

“Magda, poppet,” Voice suddenly ringing out as a source of warmth in the room, Hilda stepped forward, placing herself between the two women. Whatever malice sat heavy in Magda’s eyes softened upon hearing Hilda’s voice, “I brewed it myself and I can promise you every single ingredient could be bought from a, particularly eccentric, mortal herbalist. Everything in there is just to hurry baby along.”

“You promise?”

“Champion bubbler; I know my ingredients.” She squeezed her hand encouragingly, “Witch’s honour.”

Magda nodded wearily, eyes never leaving Hilda’s. Releasing a sign of relief Hilda kept Magda’s gaze, holding out her hand for the now-cooling draft. When her hand remained decidedly empty moments later, she turned her head to her sister, warm smile remaining though it strained slightly at the edges. Still Zelda didn’t move, instead fixing her with a derisive glare.

“Zelda, the cup.”

Any hope that it would be willingly given fading, Hilda plucked it from Zelda’s hand before strengthening her smile once more as she offered it to Magda. As the woman began to drink, her lips curled downwards; the flavour being less than pleasant if the smell was anything to go by.

“Don’t you worry, I pilfered Zelda’s liquorice store.” The younger sister pulled the candy from her pocket, holding it aloft triumphantly as she ignored the elder’s protestation, “It’ll have that taste gone in a jiffy. But I do need you to finish it all, love.”

The idea of infuriating Zelda all the prompt she needed, Magda downed the remainder of the liquid, grimacing at the sludge hiding at its end. Her reward was doled out swiftly and she bit into the stick with gusto.

“Are you sure a liquorice _wand_ isn’t too close to the occult for you,dear?” Zelda snipped, leaning back against the far wall as she pulled out a cigarette, “You might as well settle in Hilda, we’ve got a long wait.”

* * *

Six chain-smoked cigarettes later, Zelda sat back against the skirting board, ashtray by her side. She ground the butt of her cigarette into it, careful not to disturb Hilda where she rested against her shoulder. Drool hung limp from her bottom lip. Her rhythmic snores had filled the room for the last 10 minutes or so and, though it aggravated Zelda’s head further, she was loath to wake her.

Instead she fixed her attention back on the woman on the bed. If she’d got the timing right, which she always did, she’d be due another contraction shortly. Sweat still dampened her brow and her colour had yet to improve. She was far from the tenacious witch Zelda had known. And yet 100 years had had as little effect on her as it had the Spellmans, despite her lack of magic.

“You haven’t aged.” Zelda’s voice startled Magda from her trance and she tried her best to lean up on her elbows despite her weakened state, “All this effort to be mortal, and no relationships, no coven support, none of your own kind, save Victor. How can it be worth it?”

“How many Dark Devotions has your Dark Lord made you undertake? How many times have you been belittled by that cult for the crime of being a witch? Accepted it with blind faith? Nothing is sacred there.” She stroked the curve of her stomach tenderly, “This little man will never have to sign his name away or find himself at the mercy of an omnimalevolent god. And if he doesn’t have to sign his name away, there’s nothing to stop him living a normal life alongside the mortals. I’d do anything for that Zelda. Any mother would.”

Zelda pursed her lips, in consternation. If she’d have known it would have sparked sacrilegious nonsense, she wouldn’t have asked.

“And Victor feels the same?”

“I don’t know what the coven decided was the official story, but it was never my idea to leave, Zelda.”

Before there was time for her words to settle, Magda’s body stiffened and Zelda was shaking her sister awake. Startled into bleary-eyed action, Hilda dragged herself to her feet, moving to the head of the bed.

“Alright poppet,” Hilda smiled sleepily, brushing sweat-dampened strands from Magda’s eyes, “Let’s see if our little intervention helped move this little witch or w-” She stopped herself at Magda’s expression, “ _chap_ along.” Zelda tapped at the woman’s shins, drawing them apart, distracting her somewhat from the building pain, “No excuses this time. I need you to push.”

Magda nodded, hands gripping at the edges of the bed once more. Her nails dug into the soft fabric of the mattress, tearing holes into its surface. They’d only invested in a new one last month and already it would be in an unsightly state by it’s next use. Neither midwife paid it any mind however, both focused solely on the woman between them.

Hilda took hold of her shoulders, gently guiding Magda into a reclining position against her. Hidden from Magda’s gaze, she let a quick yawn escape her before focusing down on her sister.

The strain of pushing was too much for Magda’s pride to win out and she groaned deeply, eyes squeezing closed.

Zelda watched with bated breath, awaiting a sign that the potion had worked. Her eyes flicked down to her watch. 27 seconds and still there was no sign of the baby crowning. She glanced up at Hilda shaking her head softly. They’d soon lose the strength of the contraction and she wasn’t certain if they could go another without change, for either mother or baby’s sake.

“Magda, sweetheart,” Hilda cooed, voice soft though her expression mirrored her sister’s worry, “just a little longer. It’ll all be worth it when you’re holding your baby in your arms.”

The woman bore down once more, body rigid with the strain. Pain overtaking her, Magda sobbed, all attempts to choke back her tears in vain. She shook her head violently, trying to pull her legs further up the bed and away from the source of her misery.

“I can’t.” Her voice had lost all fight, instead filled only with fear.

“Look at me.” Zelda’s voice cut through the air; sharp order in the disarray of Magda’s mind. She waited as tear filled eyes met her own determined expression, “Victor deserves to hold his son, doesn’t he?”

Magda nodded weakly.

“I won’t be the one to deny him that and neither will you. This baby won’t be coming into this world unless you try.” As she spoke, Zelda slid the woman’s legs back down the bed, holding them firmly in place, “Now _push._ ”

Magda’s resulting push was cut short, her body falling limp against Hilda behind her. Without her groans the room was deathly silent.

“Zelda.” Hilda’s voice wavered.

Zelda turned, rustling through the kit at her side, returning to press the pinard horn into Magda’s stomach. Pressing her ear to the other end, she listened intently.

“Zelda?” Hilda tried again, stroking the unconscious woman’s face.

Zelda shushed her sharply. The fetal heart rate was there. But barely.

“Do not let her die before I get back.”

With a flourish of her hand, the door flew open and she charged from the room and back into her office. She had it somewhere. She knew she’d kept one. She’d promised Sister Greta she would.

Wrenching open a desk drawer, she tugged at the box it held, slipping it free from the confines. It hadn’t been touched in at least a decade; anything hidden away in it too dangerous to risk accidentally ending up in the wrong potion. She carried it back through to the neighbouring room in a delicate grip. It would not do to disturb its contents more than necessary.

Nothing of the tableau that awaited her had changed. Hilda still stood, body propping Magda up, whispering gentle words of encouragement to her in a vain attempt to rouse her. She lifted her head at Zelda’s arrival, eyes fixed on the box.

“ _Oh._ ” She intoned, at least partially understanding, “Zelda, no.”

Ignoring her sister’s protest, Zelda waved a shaking hand across the box’s surface, removing the charm that held it closed. Her prize sat at the back, it’s skin still vibrant green after all these years. Plucking it from the box, she winced at the blistering sensation in her fingertips. Whatever it did to her skin, ingesting it would be far worse. It had been for Daphne.

“Zelda, no.” Hilda’s voice was more forceful this time, adopting a hint of her sister’s stern tone.

It mattered little what she thought however; Zelda had seen it work before, it would work again.

“ _Manzanilla de la muerte._ ” Zelda muttered, holding it aloft, “Little apple of death.”

“Zelda Spellman, you are not giving up on saving her just because it’s hard, or you hadn’t planned for it, or you don’t like her very much. Magda trusted us with her life. We have to-”

Whether she was planning a long speech on perseverance or putting one’s differences aside Zelda wasn’t certain. Either way she didn’t have time for it, and neither did the babe.

“It’s not about saving her.” She said matter-of-factly, dropping the fruit into a small, stone pestle and mortar before brushing her fingers against her sleeve to rid herself of any lingering juice, “I can deliver the baby or I can let it die with her. The choice is yours.”

Zelda stopped short of crushing the fruit, turning expectantly to her sister. Hilda had been Magda’s midwife through this. She had been the one she trusted. And she was the one objecting to the one solution Zelda knew that could at least save one of them. It would be Hilda’s decision.

“We don’t need a solution that drastic.” From the wavering of her voice, Hilda was hoping to assure herself as much as she was Zelda, “A cesarean section! The mortals are performing those all the time with more and more success. Get baby out and then see to mother.”

It was an even less plausible plan than Zelda’s.

Zelda shook her head, “Nothing physical is stopping this birth, Hilda. It’s not mortal means keeping that baby in there. It’s magical. Or lack of magic. That baby has been starved of it’s powers for thirteen months. It needs them now or it stands no chance. Manzanilla de la muerte is the only antidote for brugmansia poisoning this side of the Atlantic. Sister Greta knew that, I know that and you need to accept it or I might as well have stayed in the parlor.”

A tense silence past between them, Hilda glancing between Magda and the mortar in Zelda’s hand.

Wordlessly, she nodded and Zelda crushed the fruit between the aging stones.

“Her death won’t be on you Hilda. She was dead before she got here.”

A small squeak escaped Hilda’s lips, her tears mingling with the sweat that dampened Magda’s lax brow. Zelda bit back her sigh, instead focusing on creating as fine a paste as possible.

It was a problem they’d faced time and again with Hilda; her attachments with patients forming too quickly and far too strongly. Weeks could pass and still her thoughts were clouded with remembrances of babes orphaned by birth. She sobbed for witches whose bright young faces were childlike themselves as they held their newborns. And mourned with wives who, after more pregnancies than they dared recount, welcomed not a male heir, but yet another daughter into the world.

And yet the younger witch _prided_ herself on it. Took comfort in this expression of weakness. It was an indulgence Zelda did not have time for.

Eyes steely, Zelda fixed her sister with a pointed stare, readying the paste on the tip of the pestle. What was to come would not be pleasant and she could not have a show of emotion getting in their way.

“Hilda,” Her sister attempted to gulp back tears though fresh droplets flooded in to replace them near instantly, “Hold her still.”

“She unconscious, Zelds. I doubt she could wake even if she tried.”

“Hold her still,” Memories of when her role had been reversed and Zelda stood in Hilda’s place watching Sister Greta administer the ‘cure’ flashed through the darkness of her mind. She exhaled shakily before steadying herself once more, “And don’t let her go until I have the babe in my arms. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Hilda gripped tightly at Magda’s lifeless shoulders, the action looking peculiar when the woman was in no position to put up a fight. She cast her eyes downwards following her sister’s hand as she lowered the mixture to Magda’s parted lips, spreading a thin layer across the lower one.

While Zelda’s movements to administer the paste had been slow and measured, those to rid herself of the pestle and mortar and move between Magda’s legs were a sudden blur. She had just enough time to mutter a small prayer, as she positioned herself, before it took effect.

Magda’s lips blistered more brilliantly than Zelda’s fingers had, the burning red flesh a startling contrast to the green that now lined her lips. But it was her eyes wrenching open that signified it was time. They met Hilda’s, hauntingly empty and yet desperately pleading, as her blood curdling scream filled the room.

From her place between Magda’s legs, Zelda heard her sister’s gasp above the shrill cry.

“Do not let go!” She warned, her own shoulders bracing tightly against Magda’s thighs.

It had been a necessary warning as, the moment the words escaped Zelda’s lips, Magda’s body began spasming violently, her body rebelling against Hilda’s grip to wrench itself from the bed. And yet the scream continued.

“Zelda!” Hilda’s cries joined the mix, the younger sibling sobbing more wildly than her sister had ever heard her, “Zelda, how do I help her!?”

Fighting the limbs at her sides, Zelda let out a grateful exhale at the sight they’d been waiting all night for; Magda was fully dilated. There was magic in her again. Magic too in the babe desperate to get out.

“You hold her still!” Zelda’s own voice cracked, her cheeks damp with tears she wasn’t conscious of shedding, “The babe’s coming Hilda. _It worked._ ”

It wasn’t until the relief washed over her that Zelda realised she’d needed to hear those words just as much as her sister. Needed to see this baby alive and well no matter what it’s mother’s transgressions.

Without warning, though her body still battled against them, Magda’s screaming stopped, the ringing of their ears replacing it. This hadn’t happened with Daphne. The sudden notion that she might not have remembered Sister Greta’s actions as well as she’d hoped hit Zelda. Had she done it wrong?

She reached forward for the babe’s crowning head, ready to protect it from jerking limbs as she retraced her actions desperately searching for anywhere she could have made a mistake. That was when she heard it; between staggered breaths, her sister’s gentle whisper.

“Your son, Magda. He’s coming into this world and he’s strong. Strong and ready to be held.” Hilda broke off with a sob, the moment her voice stopped a whimper sounded in Magda’s throat. _She understood,_ “Maybe he’ll be fair, like his father. But with your stunning eyes, hey poppet? The best of both of you I’d say.”

Magda’s body convulsed as the babe’s head pushed free, resting against Zelda’s waiting hand. She cradled it in one palm, slowly helping his shoulders to rotate into position.

“One more.” Zelda breathed out, her voice barely audible and yet her sister must have been listening for it.

“You hear that Madga? One more contraction and you’ll get to see him. And I’ll place him in your arms, okay? No matter what you’ll get to hold your son, I promise you.”

Magda’s stomach tensed and, after hours of resistance, the babe’s body broke free, his cries filling the room. Drawing him to her chest, Zelda made quick work of cutting the cord, bundling him in muslin. He truly was the best of both his parents; striking features and piercing eyes.

The air shifted in the room and Magda’s body froze, a tense rigidity overtaking her. Hilda released her grip, it doing little good when Magda’s body held itself so still, dark bruises appearing where Hilda’s fingers had held her. She gestured frantically for the babe.

“She has to hold him. I promised she could hold him.” Hilda choked through her sobs.

Carefully, she picked up a heavy arm from Magda’s side, doing her best to curve it into a somewhat supportive hold. She turned, pulling the infant from Zelda’s embrace and lowered him into his mother’s arm.

“Can you see, sweetheart? Your little chap is so glad to see you.” Her eyes flicked to Magda’s, watching fresh tears fall as the woman got as close to holding her babe as she ever would.

Keeping the babe balanced with her left hand, Hilda reached into her pocket with her right, pulling out a handkerchief. She drew it across the drying paste on Magda’s lips, revealing the tender flesh burnt beneath it.

“He deserves a good view of his mum, hey? See where he gets his good looks.”

Hilda smiled warmly and, as she watched, Zelda swore Magda’s lip twitched in response. Seemingly Hilda saw it too.

“Her bag.”

“What?”

“Bring me her bag. I need to check something.”

“Hilda-”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Hilda sighed, removing the babe from Magda’s arms and placing him back in Zelda’s, “I’ve never known a witch take a potion daily and not carry a dose with her.”

She found her bag, riffling through it before taking hold of a small vial.

“There’s nothing to say that would work, Hilda.” Whatever Magda deserved, she didn’t deserve this. This pain, this continued, misplaced hope, “ _Let her go._ ”

“I have to try.”

Loosening the cap, Hilda poured the contents between Magda’s lips, her own moving quickly in silent prayer.

Zelda’s focus returned to the newborn in her arm. He needed a full check over after his ordeal and she would not delay it further only for him to watch his mother die. Rocking him softly, she carried him to the other side of the room before depositing him on the scales. A healthy-

A choked gasp filled the room and Zelda’s head spun with speed enough to give her whiplash.

Magda was moving. Her lips only but they were definitely moving this time. She was speaking, or trying to. The whisper that she managed was fainter than any noise Zelda had ever heard her make.

Hilda lowered her ear to a fraction above the woman’s lips, listening intently. A triumphant smile broke across her face.

“Zelda, Magda would like to hold Joseph.”

* * *

Magda had refused any and all magical intervention to assist in the healing process. Instead she reclined, held up only by the rigidity of the bed behind her and the many pillows Hilda could find. Joseph lay in her lap, chubby fist in his mouth as he stared towards the ceiling. Though Zelda had repeatedly explained the importance of a full set of checks being performed on the babe, the new mother was not ready to let him out of her sight. Not just yet.

Hilda bustled back into the room, a steaming cup of tea in her hand and beaming grin still firmly on her face.

“Really Hilda,” Zelda bemoaned, eyes rolling despite a smile of her own threatening to make an appearance, “Anyone would think you’ve never seen a baby before.”

“Not one that’s this much of a miracle.” The younger Spellman cooed down at the child. She offered the cup to Magda whose expression was the mirror of Hilda’s, if a little worse for wear, “Sugary tea. Midwife’s orders.”

Magda nodded, throat still too raw for much in the way of vocalisations. An attempt to raise her hands to the cup was made but proved useless, palms raising only a few inches from her lap before they fell to her side again.

“How about we let little one have his check up while I help you with this?” Hilda suggested, already setting the tea down to scoop up the baby.

Once he was with Zelda, she pulled a stool to Magda’s side, seating herself next to her to delicately bring the tea to her lips.

“Let me know if it’s too hot on those blisters and we can wait a while, okay?”

Magda nodded and a comfortable silence fell between them.

For all Zelda could see, the baby seemed none the worse for his continued brugmansia dosing. He was slightly on the heavier side, chunky arms and legs attesting to that, and his skin held a slight jaundice tinge that would require monitoring over the next few days, but ostensibly he was a healthy little warlock. _Warlock._

They had no recognisable test for magic ability; it being innate for all babies born of magical parents. Yet Hilda would be able to ascertain surely.

“Hilda, when you’re finished as nursemaid, the child needs your attention.”

She heard Hilda make quiet apologies before she joined Zelda, “Is he okay?” Hilda furrowed her brow softly, glancing up at her older sister, “He looks just fine to me.”

“And his powers?” Zelda's voice was little above a whisper, “Can you sense them?”

Though she rolled her eyes, Hilda didn’t argue and instead closed her eyes, drawing on arcane powers, an otherworldly wind touseling her hair. When her eyes opened again they told Zelda everything she needed to know.

Despite all they had accomplished that morning, rage overtook her, “Nothing?” Zelda hissed.

“A trace,” Hilda stumbled to placate her, “But he’s healthy Zelds, and has two loving parents to take him home.”

“And is magically castrated beyond recognition.” Not bothering to modulate her volume anymore, Zelda whipped round to Magda’s resting form, “Not even the Dark Lord could bestow powers on a child this mutilated!”

Magda made to argue, her voice far too hoarse to be heard over Zelda’s ire.

“Not on your nelly, Zelda Spelman.” Hilda placed herself a physical barrier between them. She thrust a finger towards the door, staring her down, “Our new mother needs peace and if you can’t provide that then it’s time to leave.”

Zelda’s nostrils flared. Never before had her sister been so bold. And yet, as the clock in the hall struck 8am, Zelda was struck with the realisation that she had spent the better part of her morning bringing a cursed child into this world. Her penance for this would be truly unimaginable.

Exhaling furiously, she flounced from the room, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Zelda’s cigarette smoke mingled with steam as she placed the roast in the oven. In reality it was far too early to be making anything other than a strong coffee, but the meat could do with a long slow roast to get it falling off the bone.

The heretic was still under their roof, energies adulterating the air but she hoped it wouldn't permeate the meat.

The descendant of two of the most prominent families of the Church of Night lay in their examination room, near powerless as his mother. Denied his birthright.

She stubbed out the butt of her cigarette, swapping it for her third espresso of the morning.

“Anyone home?” A cheerily familiar voice sounded from the hall, slightly more gravelled than she remembered but still just as charming.

_Victor._ How disappointing for him, to have to look upon his heir and know all that he would never be. She would have to tell him; couldn’t let him fall in love with a damned child before knowing the truth.

“Through here.” She called through, unconsciously smoothing invisible creases from her dress as she awaited his arrival.

And suddenly there he was, just as she remembered, having hardly aged a day.

“Zelda Spellman, as I live and breath.” Victor exclaimed and her breath caught as he pulled her into a crushingly tight hug. “Just as breathtakingly beautiful as ever, Miss Spellman.”

Brilliant blue eyes smiled warmly at her as he released her. And that smirk; as mischievous as ever. Her cheeks coloured ever so slightly at the sight.

“I take it I’ve got you to thank for the safe delivery of my boy.” He squeezed her arm softly, “Where is he? Magda?”

"He-" She stopped herself, distracted by metal glinting at his neck.

A crucifix. She reached out, fingertips running across the silver. She'd expected it to be cold; surprised to find it held the warmth of his heart where it sat against his chest. If what Magda had said was true, he'd be _happy,_ she realised with a start. Overjoyed with so mortal a son.

Yet how could he be, with what it so clearly meant for them?

"Without the Dark Lord's blessing, you'll watch your son age and die long before you even start to grey." She loosened her grip on the cross, palm instead resting against his chest.

She'd never been known for great shows of emotion but she hoped the sentiment was clear; hope he understood the gravity of the situation. The limitations of the life they now ascribed to.

He shook his head, soft curls tousling with the movement, "Our time will come before his. We only ever sought a mortal life for our family Zelda. Once he no longer needs us we will await him in our father's kingdom for our true eternity." He squeezed her hand at his chest reassuringly when she made to recoil at his admission, "Mortals view life as a gift Zelda. We lose that somewhere living so long. I hope one day you realise it too. Now," He released her hand, tilting her chin up softly, her eyes meeting with the warmth of his, "I'd very much like to meet my son."

* * *

_Some might call it confidence, others name it faith, but if it makes us brave the label doesn’t matter for it’s the thing that frees us to embrace life itself._

A tear tracked down Zelda's cheek as she watched them depart from the kitchen window. Carrying Magda in his arms, Victor crossed to the car with little difficulty, Hilda following behind with the babe. He lowered his wife into the passenger seat with a level of care Zelda had long associated with the warlock he had been, but which seemed alien in this setting. It wasn't until Magda was comfortably seated, a tender kiss placed on her forehead, that he turned back to Hilda, his smile wider than ever she'd seen.

They were happy in their damnation. Foolishly so.

She could watch no more as he settled the child into its mother’s arms. Not one but two families made to suffer for the selfish actions of one witch.

She’d agreed not to tell a soul, well aware of the ramifications of denouncing Satan, as well for those caught helping absconders. She would not be punished for her part in it; would speak a word to no one.

“Auntie?” Ambrose’s voice from the doorway broke her from her reverie. She brusquely thumbed away the dampness from her cheek before turning to find her nephew, a small pacifier held between thumb and forefinger and a bemused expression on his face, “I found this in the embalming room. Your doing?”

Zelda straightened, a small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth at the reminder that there was at least the smallest of silver linings on the day, “We’re having something special for dinner. _Longpig._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Some might call it confidence, others name it faith, but if it makes us brave the label doesn’t matter for it’s the thing that frees us to embrace life itself._ \- Call the Midwife S2 E2
> 
> I got far too carried away with research on this one (when do I not) but for anyone who's interested brugmansia/angel's trumpet is part of the belladonna family. It's fatal in large doses but in smaller doses can disturb the autonomic and central nervous system (which I'm theorising would also impact a witches magic) and can paralyse smooth muscles, like those found in the uterus, which in this case is what's preventing the labour from progressing.  
> Manzanilla de la muerte is a toxic apple-like fruit which can kill in its own right, but also contains one of the only treatments for brugmansia poisoning.
> 
> Any comments or thoughts are truly appreciated!


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